Almost any garden, if you see it at just the right moment,
can be confused with paradise.
Gardens often are a source of inspiration for those who work the soil and tend the plantings, as well as for those who visit. There is such a deep, innate connection and love of nature for most of us. Do you feel that way?
Diane, a local poet extraordinaire, visits Rose Cottage on a late afternoon for a stroll amongst the early fall garden beds. The gardens at Rose Cottage are simple country gardens . . . and wax and wane dependent upon the weather and wildlife.
Elizabeth joins us for tea and berries in the garden, too. She is an amazing gardener. Will you join us? There is so much to share . . . The three of us laugh, talk and are frequently in our own thoughts as we are mesmorized by the exquisite lighting in the garden.
The sun sinks low behind the trees and hills. The gardens glimmer in jewel tones while song birds sing from the tops of the white pine, red cedar and basswood. The leaves of the quaking aspen rustle in the soft southern breeze. The heady, unmistakable fragrance of heirloom roses fills the air. Breathless.
It is one of those times were magic abounds in the garden. . . our hearts sing with the beauty of the moment. . . our spirits are filled with peace and exuberance all at once. It feels like paradise . . .
the heart sings in poetry
A few days following our dreamy late afternoon in the garden, Diane is eager to meet. She hands me a sealed envelope. “It is my gift to you. After visiting Rose Cottage, I couldn’t sleep until I wrote what was in my heart and on my mind.” This is what she penned . . .
In the garden of Debbykay (almost Monet)
In the village of Afton (almost Giverney),
We cannot even see Elizabeth’s hat,
One of the straw varieties reserved
For outings such as these,
Until she backs out, fanny first,
From the forest of tomato vines
Where she picks the still-warm
Exuberant offerings of late August.
Rub and sniff, fingers filled with pineapple sage,
Punctuations of pleasure that dart and surprise
Displacing the butterfly-bee rondelets, garden opera,
With botanical poetry from seed catalogues, we are
Divas in the moment when shimmer meets shadow.
This one’s and that one’s version
Of gardens known, imagined, want to be,
Would be if we were a bee (or a butterfly),
Revelers dancing in the sparkle of sunspray.
Diane’s poetry is an amazing gift. It is truly humbling to realize that our simple little parcel of land that we tend inspires another. Diane’s generosity is encouraging on days when it is easy to be discouraged and weary. Her poetry is a reminder of the brief glimpse, as if through a small crack in a window, of paradise captured on a spectacular early fall eve at Rose Cottage.
What inspires you about gardens you visit or tend?